


Bag Skate

by Mandoli



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandoli/pseuds/Mandoli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bag skates are not meant to be taken lightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bag Skate

I'm not willing to talk about our last game. It sucked; simple as that.

I remember trying to get off of the ice before I was pelted by half-eaten pieces of meat and plastic cups. I wouldn't have cared as much if I had gotten nailed with one of the beer cups. Having some sort of hot dog or sausage land on my jersey? Well, that would have been another story altogether. (Short story: I would have found the jackass who did the deed and kicked his ass, Mike Milbury-style.) But I was the better man in the end, finding my way down the tunnel and into the locker room before I wound up in a jail cell with all of my equipment on.

The next day, I found out just how bad we did on the ice. We weren't supposed to have practice. It was Sunday, and we usually go out to church with our wives, girlfriends, and/or kids. Instead, the coach had us cancel our plans and find our way to the practice facility. I can remember what he said very clearly, as he announced the following after we had all made it safely to our shelter: “If any one of you shows up late, I'm going to make sure your ass sits up in the press box for our next game. I don't give a shit who you are.”

And that's why we all made sure we arrived an hour early. Neither my teammates or myself were willing to have our ass handed a chair on the top floor of the arena.

Our jerseys were all hung up in the locker room when we showed up. They weren't our usual colors. I wasn't in my familiar white jersey for this particular practice. I was in a gray jersey. Other teammates were shocked when they learned that they were also wearing gray jerseys. In fact, everyone was wearing a grey jersey.

And on top of all of that, a note was scribbled on the white board in the room.

_“Bring your sticks, but don't expect to use them.”_

That didn't feel comfortable to read. That could only mean one thing. Bag skate.

I remembered them from when I was in high school and juniors. If we didn't perform up to our standards, it was going to be pure hell at our next practice. Bag skates were just power skating and push-ups for a good hour or so. In the NHL, where you have the cameras filming your every move, especially in your own practice facility? That made things worse.

We slowly trickled onto the ice and began skating slow. Some were nervous about even getting on the ice. Since the core of the team hadn't had a bag skate in a few years, we weren't exactly sure what was going to happen. I didn't want someone to take the blame for something they didn't do. Maybe they'd get some sort of injury during this. Getting out of this the hard way would be great.

Before I could think of something – anything – to get out of doing pure torture, our coaches came out onto the ice. There were some players who didn't want to look at them. Their heads were down, ashamed for the actions that occurred on the ice the night before. I gulped, knowing that the road to hell was nearing its dramatic conclusion.

We all lined up at one of the goal lines. Single file. Our coach looked at us; he looked pretty angry. “Do you know why you deserve this,” he asked, getting visibly pissed off. “Because you guys sucked last night, and I believe you sucked in your previous two games as well! I want you all to suffer for your piss-poor ability to function together as a team! Now I want you to skate as hard as you can. Because that's _all_ you'll be doing today.”

Did I mention that bag skates weren't meant to be taken lightly? Away we go.

 


End file.
